


a map with your name for a capital

by analineblue



Category: Samurai Flamenco
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 16:35:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/analineblue/pseuds/analineblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goto's feelings are complicated. (Coda to episode 6.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a map with your name for a capital

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this just after episode 6 aired, because I really wanted to write a get-together fic for them, and it seemed like exactly the right time for it. And then I went on vacation for a few weeks, and in that time, of course, a million things have happened in the series! But I hope that the timing of this still works. ^_~

Masayoshi may be steady enough on his feet by now, but Goto isn’t taking any chances - he’s got his arm wrapped around his friend’s waist and doesn’t plan on letting go anytime soon. 

Mari and the girls have gone on their way, and while Goto is grateful that the drama of the situation has died down, he also knows that this sense of calm might not last long. They need to leave. 

His eyes scan the area around them warily.

“Where did you leave your clothes?” 

Masayoshi sighs. “In one of the lockers at the station, maybe ten minutes from here…”

Goto’s not sure he wants to wait that long before getting them out of here. The center of the city feels unnecessarily bright and sprawling and dangerous, even to someone as used to it as he is. 

He should probably be taking Masayoshi to the hospital, even though his friend has assured him several times that he’s just a little banged up, but that he’ll be fine. 

Sometimes Goto wonders if he should have insisted that his friend stop all of this months ago. He could have demanded it the night they met, could have arrested him. That would have at least slowed down the progress of this whole Flamenco thing, right? 

Then again, probably not. If Goto has learned anything since he’s met Masayoshi, it’s that his friend is incredibly stubborn.

Goto sighs. Masayoshi is rubbing his neck, twisting his head from side to side, stretching things out. 

“Never mind about the clothes,” Goto says. “You can pick them up later – for now we should get you home.” 

He raises his arm to hail a taxi, not waiting for a response. 

Goto maneuvers his friend inside the first car that stops, despite his protests that they can just take the train after they’ve retrieved his clothes, and his even louder protests that he can’t possibly be seen entering his apartment building in his current outfit. 

In the taxi, Goto gestures at Masayoshi’s helmet. 

“Off,” he instructs, and Masayoshi looks at him like he’s the crazy one. 

“Come on, I know you said you didn’t hit your head, but I want to make sure. And I’ll lend you my sweatshirt if you’re that worried, okay?” 

“Goto-san…”

“Come on. I promise you, the taxi driver isn’t going to sell out your identity.”

_It’s too dark for him to see anything anyway_ , Goto thinks. He’s immediately annoyed at himself for even worrying about this. Honestly, having to conceal a superhero’s identity is a lot harder than it looks. 

The dark side streets blur past, and the city lights flicker over the taxi’s interior. Masayoshi first takes off his mask, then his helmet. He folds the mask carefully and places it on his lap, then looks over at Goto. 

His face is a little flushed, probably from the mask and heavy helmet, but he doesn’t have any visible bruises. It’s a good start. 

“I really don’t think I hit my head,” Masayoshi says, again. 

“Well, well, but come here anyway.” 

“My hair’s all sweaty,” Masayoshi says, frowning, but Goto is already pressing his fingers against his friend’s scalp, gross sweaty head of hair or not.

“It’s embarrassing,” Goto hears his friend say, so quiet it’s almost inaudible, as he moves his hands over Masayoshi’s head, searching for bumps or tender spots, anything out of the ordinary. 

His friend’s hair is damp, but it’s not that bad – mostly just warm, and much messier than usual.

Truth be told though, Masayoshi is right. It _is_ embarrassing. All of this feels strangely intimate in the small space, and there’s an uncomfortable knot in Goto’s stomach too. When the tips of his fingers graze the base of his friend’s neck, and soft, warm skin replaces messy helmet-head hair, the skin on Goto’s neck prickles a little, and the hairs on his arms stand on end. 

It’s complicated, he tells himself for what feels like the hundredth time – this strange sense of closeness he’s felt towards Masayoshi since pretty much the day they met. Goto hasn’t ever really been able to explain it. It’s just something that’s there, something that he knows guides his actions, and makes him feel responsible for things like what happened tonight when he knows that he shouldn’t, that this is Masayoshi’s fault, and no one else’s. It’s like Masayoshi is his long lost little brother, or a childhood friend he hasn’t seen in years. Sometimes it feels like Masayoshi is something else entirely, something Goto’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put a name to. 

The obvious thing would be to wonder if this is all Mari’s fault – saying weird things and flinging accusations all over the place. But the truth is, anything that Mari may have insinuated tonight really doesn’t change anything. Goto’s been putting Masayoshi first, before everything else in his life, for a while now, and he has absolutely no explanation for it, except that he knows he can’t stop, that when it comes down to it, he doesn’t want to, not for a second.

Masayoshi winces a little when Goto’s hand drops to his shoulder, and Goto’s stomach turns over uncertainly.

He’s done checking for some hidden head injury now, and is fairly convinced his friend isn’t concussed, but his hand lingers for a moment anyway, just above the collar of Masayoshi’s suit. He can feel the heat from Masayoshi’s skin against his fingers, his palm. 

He really wishes he’d been able to get there sooner tonight.

“You need to be more careful next time,” Goto says quietly.

He closes his eyes for a moment before he breaks the contact, and announces to Masayoshi that he seems fine – no bumps, no concussion. 

Then Goto wrestles his arms out of his hoodie. They’re getting close to Masayoshi’s place, and god forbid they don’t do everything in their power to conceal the identity of his friend’s alter ego. Goto takes the helmet and mask from Masayoshi’s lap, and helps his friend wriggle into the sweatshirt, which, as it turns out, is big enough on him that it hides most of his costume when he tightens the string around his neck and pulls the hood over his head. Goto can’t help but notice a couple of grimaces and winces from Masayoshi as he settles into his costume change.

“Thanks,” Masayoshi says, smiling a little from under the hood. “How do I look?” 

“Like you need a bath and a good night’s sleep,” Goto says. “Also like you’ve raided someone else’s far less fashionable closet,” he adds, and Masayoshi just laughs. 

They’re quiet the rest of the short distance, and Goto stares out the window, counting the buildings and trees idly as they pass outside the taxi.

“I’m sorry it took me so long,” Goto says eventually. It shouldn’t be a hard thing to say – it’s the truth, after all - but he has to concentrate on getting the words out, he’s gritting his teeth so hard. “Next time, it’ll be quicker. I’ve figured out the GPS tracking now, so…”

Masayoshi stares at him for a long moment, from inside Goto’s hoodie, looking surprised. His eyes are wide and bright, even in the darkness.

“I’m just glad you made it when you did,” Masayoshi says, and then lowers his head. “Sorry if I made you worry.” 

Goto just nods and tries not to think about whether or not Masayoshi really understands what could have happened if he’d gotten there two minutes later tonight. Or ten. 

**

Back at Masayoshi’s apartment, Goto sinks down onto the couch, and takes a deep breath. He’d paid the taxi fare, since Masayoshi’d had the bright idea to leave his wallet at the station with his change of clothes, and as he relaxes into the couch, he realizes that he’s suddenly exhausted.

He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but the adrenaline rush that flooded his body when he’d come in guns blazing to save the day had been pretty draining. He’d faced worse before, on the job, but tonight had still shaken him up a bit.

It’d taken forever to figure out how to track Masayoshi’s GPS, and he honestly hadn’t been sure of what he would find when he finally got there. As it stands, Masayoshi came dangerously close to getting hurt tonight. And no matter how many times Goto tells himself that he did all he could, that he got there as fast as possible, given the circumstances - something about that realization lingers, even when he knows they’ve made it safely back, that there’s no real danger anymore.

Goto can hear Masayoshi puttering around in his bedroom while he fills up the bath. It’s oddly comforting in the stillness of the spacious apartment. 

Goto is aware of the fact that something has changed tonight. Something that started out there in the middle of the city when he arrived on the scene, when he realized that his strength, his ability to protect what was important to him would be the deciding factor in the outcome of tonight. He’d made a decision out there, and it’d come in a split second – so quickly that there really had been no decision at all, just instinct. 

He’s really not sure why he gets up from the couch. He knows it’s none of his business what his friend does – if he’s covered in bruises at the end of a night of “crime” fighting, if something worse happens someday. He knows Masayoshi is not actually his responsibility, that he’s just as much of an adult as Goto is, even if it doesn’t always feel that way. In any case, he’s going to make his own decisions, and Goto really can’t stop him. 

He can’t seem to let go of what happened tonight though. It feels significant, though he honestly has no idea why. 

“Hey,” he says, opening the door a little wider into the bedroom. “I should—" _go_ , is what he’d been planning on saying, or at least it’s what he should have planned on saying, but instead he finds himself staring at the figure in front of him, a bit frozen to the spot. 

Masayoshi’s costume is pooled on the floor next to his feet, along with Goto’s sweatshirt, and his friend is standing there in front of the mirror, in nothing but a pair of thin pajama pants. There are a couple of dark red marks across his chest and his back, Goto notices as Masayoshi turns in front of the mirror. He’s sure those will make for some lovely bruises tomorrow.

“Not so bad,” Masayoshi says, studying his reflection. “Right? Just a couple of bruises.” 

“Yeah,” Goto says, his mouth suddenly dry. One of the marks along Masayoshi’s ribs is already starting to turn a deep purple. “I think you’ll live.” 

Masayoshi begins to cross the room towards him, and there’s a tiny shiver in the air, barely perceptible, a light tremor under Goto’s feet. Then Goto realizes that it’s not the air, it’s _him_ , it’s his heart suddenly pounding in his chest like it wants to leap out of his throat. 

Masayoshi winces a little when he takes a step, and that’s when Goto feels it in his chest - a pull so strong he’s sure Masayoshi must be able to feel it too. 

Masayoshi stops suddenly, and Goto realizes that it’s because he’s grabbed his friend’s elbow and is holding him in place. Masayoshi opens his mouth, probably to ask him what the hell he’s doing, but Goto has already pulled his friend close, has already stopped whatever words Masayoshi had been ready to question him with, right there in his throat. Goto knows the feeling, because his words are tucked up somewhere between his chest and his lips too. He can feel them rattling around inside of him, like chips of ice against a giant glass.

It’s not quite a hug, but it’s the closest Goto has ever been to Hazama Masayoshi, at least for such a prolonged amount of time. He smells like outside, like the city, like sweat and wind and the plastic-vinyl of his discarded suit. 

Goto’s back is up against the bedroom door, and his face is pressed against the side of Masayoshi’s neck. He can feel his friend’s breath against his ear. He’s really not sure what he’s doing, just that he’d felt the fierce need to do it in that moment. It had felt necessary - it still does - to wrap his arms around his friend like this. Masayoshi isn’t small – but right now he feels compact, contained, safe. 

It’s silly, but there’s a single thought that has taken hold of Goto’s mind. Like it’s been waiting there somewhere in the depths, wherever Goto had filed it away, and now that it’s out in the open it’s not going anywhere – it’s putting down roots. 

He can feel Masayoshi’s pulse thumping along under the skin of his neck, and for a second, Goto’s lips brush against his friend’s skin. Masayoshi’s neck is warm and soft. It contrasts the sharp angles of the rest of his body.

Goto doesn’t want to let go. Because this, caring for Masayoshi, being able to hold him while he’s hurting… Goto isn’t sure he’s ever wanted anything more intensely. He can’t get that thought out of his head. 

He knows he has to let go, but the more he thinks about it, the more embarrassed he is, and the more red the redder he can feel his face becoming. Finally, he just plants his feet firmly, grips Masayoshi by the shoulders, and pushes himself off. Masayoshi stares at him for a long, long moment. 

“Sorry,” Goto says, because he can’t think of what else to say, or how to explain himself. “I was really worried before, I guess I just—" _needed to reassure myself that you were really okay_ , his brain continues to supply, even after the look on his friend’s face has stopped him from finishing that thought aloud. 

Goto has no idea what the look on Masayoshi’s face means right now – it’s part determination, part something else entirely, and then before he realizes what’s happening, Masayoshi’s face is so close that he can feel his friend’s breath tickling his nose. 

There’s a strange, surreal moment where he feels Masayoshi’s hands on his neck and chin, steadying him, but his friend’s hands seem to be moving impossibly slowly. And then Masayoshi’s lips are pressed against his. 

They’re dryer than he thought they would be. But firm, too. Purposeful. 

Yeah, Goto realizes, he’s thought about this.

He wraps his arms around Masayoshi’s back, against the bare skin there, and feels his friend shiver a little. Goto makes a tiny, embarrassing noise in the back of his throat. In response, Masayoshi’s lips part, and Goto finds himself rendered completely unable to process anything other than how this feels. 

They’re a little tentative at first, but they only bump noses twice before they figure out the right angle, and the rhythm they find after that doesn’t take long at all. Goto is a little surprised by how… Well, by how good it is. How natural it feels to thread his fingers through Masayoshi’s hair, right at the base of his friend’s neck, and make him gasp against his lips. How easy it is for a tiny flick of Masayoshi’s tongue to cause little pinprick bursts of fire along his skin, from his lips all the way down to his toes, like fireworks going off along his nerve endings.

Goto isn’t used to this at all. He’s used to slightly awkward first kisses that end before they’ve really started, to the steady navigation of a second kiss, and then more, but this is something different. It’s exhilarating, and a little terrifying.

Masayoshi’s arms wrap around his lower back, as he tugs their hips together. Goto hums a little in the back of his throat, and pulls them closer on instinct, as Masayoshi deepens the kiss. It feels a bit like plunging underwater, everything deep and dark and swirling all around him.

It feels like they’ve been doing this forever, too, like they’re not going to stop. As if this is the only thing left in the world that makes any kind of sense, even though Goto knows there’s nothing at all that makes sense about this happening right now.

And eventually, of course, they do stop. 

Goto’s brain slowly comes back online, and as it does, there are at least a half a dozen alarm bells going off in his head about what a bad, bad idea this is, which he supposes is a sign that he hasn’t completely lost his mind, at least. The alarms are only natural, Goto tells himself, and they run the gamut - _Masayoshi is his friend, his **male** friend, and besides that, he’s totally insane - **this** is insane - he has a girlfriend, after all_ , etcetera.

And then Goto looks up at Masayoshi, and realizes that his friend is smiling. _Really_ smiling, like Goto has never seen him smile before, his charm turned up to about a thousand watts. It’s the biggest, stupidest grin that he’s ever seen on his friend’s face, and it completely tugs at something inside Goto. It makes his heart race, just watching him. 

He has to say something, and somehow when he opens his mouth, “I should go,” is what comes out, stupidly. Because that’s pretty much the exact opposite of everything he’s thinking.

He’s relieved when Masayoshi shakes his head. 

“Stay,” he says, and it’s not a question, not really. When he says it again, a little more forcefully, Goto nods. 

Masayoshi smiles again, and before he knows it, Goto is smiling back. 

Just like that, the alarms have been silenced. All but one, anyway, and it’s the one that’s telling him that they really, really need to do this again, preferably as soon as possible. 

“Hey,” Goto says, and his voice is too loud – he’s suddenly aware that there isn’t nearly as much distance between them as there usually is. He swallows. “There’s one condition.”

“What?”

“I’ll stay, but… There’s a condition,” he says again, studying Masayoshi’s face. “If you have to keep doing this Flamenco stuff, and I know that you do – I want you to let me help you.” He lowers his voice. “I want you to let me take care of you.”

Masayoshi takes a step closer. He places his hands on Goto’s hips, a little tentatively. 

“Yes,” he says seriously, and the skin on Goto’s face and neck prickles with heat. “Please. You know I’m always happy when you’re here to help me.” 

Goto has to look away from Masayoshi’s eyes, which feel a bit like they’re looking straight through him at the moment. 

Masayoshi smiles. “So do I get a condition too?”

“It doesn’t work that—" he starts, but stops when Masayoshi’s fingers press against his lips. 

“Kiss me,” Masayoshi says. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tentative, questioning. “Please?”

Goto feels his face warm a little. He’s not embarrassed, but he can feel something moving inside of him, something powerful and uncontrollable that he hasn’t felt in a really long time.

“Is that all?” Goto says finally, enjoying the tiny noise of surprise that Masayoshi breathes against their lips when he presses them together. “I think I can handle that,” he whispers before he deepens the kiss. 

He’s not sure if the low appreciative moan that comes after belongs to him, or to Masayoshi, or to both of them. He’s not sure that it matters. 

Their second kiss is longer, slower, a measured mapping out of points of contact, of boundaries. It’s directionless at times, but laser-focused, too - point A to point B to point C and then some.

“I lied,” Masayoshi says a few moments later. “It wasn’t really a condition. Just something I really, really wanted.”

The words cling there against Goto’s skin, warm and a little moist from Masayoshi’s lips.

“But I probably would have let you stay anyway. I’ve wanted it for a while, after all, so I’d gotten pretty good at waiting.” 

A few beats pass, and Goto is suddenly very aware of the thin line of space between their bodies.

“Yeah, I know,” Goto says, and he tugs Masayoshi’s body against his, feeling the gaps between them melt away like they never existed in the first place. “Mine wasn’t really a condition either.” 

**

_Here is a map with your name for a capital,_  
 _here is an arrow to prove a point: we laugh_  
 _and it pits the world against us, we laugh,_  
 _and we’ve got nothing left to lose, and our hearts  
_ _turn red, and the river rises like a barn on fire._

\- Richard Siken, _Saying Your Names_

***


End file.
